


I am Machine

by The_Spaghetti_Incident



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Incest, Sibling Incest, more tags as the story progresses, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 12:38:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20796767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Spaghetti_Incident/pseuds/The_Spaghetti_Incident
Summary: Gaara spends his life consumed by numbness. Temari reaches for him, secretly seeking his validation. He feels something and his mind crumbles at the inability to understand the revived pain that started to grow within. Amid confusion and instability, Shukaku arises – completely consumed by revenge – and the beast had promised it wouldn't stop until it fully corrupted Gaara too. Sandcest! GaaTema!





	I am Machine

**Author's Note:**

> Rating will change in future chapters. I have already redone the chapter completely and I, although not fully satisfied, I'm fine with it.
> 
> IMPORTANT INFORMATION I: When I write 'IT' sometimes, I'm referring to Shukaku. Thought I should mention, just not to confuse you.  
IMPORTANT INFORMATION II: Shukaku is very confident and refers constantly to itself as 'my esteemed self'.
> 
> This is also on FF.net

Gaara wandered in the middle of the desert, his arms crossed against his chest as his eyes watched the horizon and his sand carried him over the sand mountains. The cold wind blew strong against him and sand flew all around, the small grits mingling with the flying strands of his red hair.

Had it been anyone else, their eyes would have watered by now, burning with the feeling of the grits scraping against their eyeballs. Not him. He didn't close his eyes. Never. He welcomed it, and the harsh sand that scratched against the skin of his face as he flew around felt, somewhat, like part of him, and it was comforting, even if just a little.

Gaara was the desert. Each granule composed of finely divided rock and mineral particles was a part of him. Everything belonged to him. The desert, the sand, even the wind – no, not the wind, that was someone else's. He had no right to claim the wind, and he knew that.

Still, the desert did behave according to his will. It reacted to his most deep thoughts and secret desires. And in moments of uncertainty and confusion – like Gaara's current state of mind –, even the slight sign of emotion could provoke an unexpected response from the desert.

He hovered over the dunes as he watched the sand blowing off the crest as the wind blew harder, and it sung for him. The sand whistled its torment – his torment – into his ears. The sound waves bouncing back and forth between the surface of the dune and its moist layer as the air passed over it.

Stepping out of the floating sand of his jar, the dune sand barked in response as his feet moved onto it. The weight of his body causing friction between the grains and compressing air between the grits with each movement of his feet. It squeaked under the soles of his sandals and he liked the familiar sound. How many times had he done this?

He breathed heavily in exasperation. All his nights were the same. A never-ending loop of emptiness and deterioration filled with questions and assumptions. Sometimes, he barely even felt like himself. Too faded by his self-imposed isolation, too lost by his lack of human comprehension. Which begged the question: was he even human? He most certainly didn't feel like one.

Aside from his nightly self-flogging, now he had yet another brand-new problem that he couldn't seem to be able to understand, nor fix. It caused a turmoil – one that, every day, he hid very well behind his passive expression – of mixed feelings inside of him. Even if his cold eyes successfully concealed his freshly rediscovered agony, on the outside the sandstorm roared its despicable desire for company – something the redhead hadn't had in years.

That longing feeling had become an insistent disturbance, burning incessantly in the back of his mind. His head throbbed with pain all day long, every single day and it stiffed the muscles for his neck all the way down to the ones on his back. He just wished it could go away. Why had it suddenly started to bother him?

He didn't need any company. He had the constant numb presence of none other than the infamous Shukaku. Through the years, their animosity for each other hadn't really lessened – if nothing, because of Gaara's actions, it had only grown on Shukaku's behalf –, but their restless battle for control had long ceased. Gaara had grown strong in both body and mind, and he'd use his strength to banish the beast to the darkest place he could find in his mind.

In moments of intense boredom, extreme solitude and complete reclusion – courtesy of its host –, when it couldn't watch the world through Gaara's eyes, nor interact with it superficially, Shukaku would growl and yell and curse so loud at the redhead that its hate would slip through the powerful blocking seal, and only then Gaara would be able to hear it again. To him, it was nothing more than a mild annoyance, and he had learned how to effectively deal with it.

After all, if the beast, in its exile, couldn't quite grasp Gaara's vulnerabilities anymore, it had nothing to work its powerful influence on – nothing but petty insults and mockery. For quite some time, Shukaku had been unaware to the redhead's newly formed weaknesses – especially the ones that Gaara himself had been surprised to find buried so deep inside of his heart –, and the only one it knew of – its host's fear of losing control – had long dissipated as he grew older and wiser.

For long and cold years, the Tanuki was kept locked tight in another place of its host mind – a place that no tailed beast was originally locked in when it was sealed – and it remained completely oblivious to Gaara's well repressed feelings – feelings that not even he was entirely aware of. It had nothing meaningful to taunt the boy with and fill its pathetic existence with some trivial purpose now that it held no power over the redhead. It knew nothing more about his feelings, vulnerabilities, nor even his deepest thoughts – which despite of, sometimes, Gaara being unable to keep only to himself, he controlled very well in order to maintain Shukaku at bay.

Secretly, it drove the beast mad, instead, as it knew Gaara's efforts to keep his secrets away from _its esteemed self_ – and the way it worked made Shukaku furious. How dared him? The self-centered brat.

It hated that while it perished into darkness, the recently elected Kazekage lived on the glory of being forever remembered and, most importantly, feared – Shukaku imagined. The beast couldn’t help wondering if its host reaped the fruits of being a Kage, and it envied him for that. Gaara, in contrast, didn't really care about his title. He could hardly bring himself to genuinely care about the village, let alone about the people that had no meaning at all to him, nor ever even tried to build any sort of relationship with him prior to his Kazekage position.

Gaara had learned how and chosen to tune Shukaku completely out after the Chunnin exam. For a long time, the Ichibi pondered if any other tailed beast had ever been banished to the same place it had. Slowly, as the beast tried unsuccessfully to free itself and regain Gaara's attention, its will lessened with each failure. It reluctantly succumbed to hibernation – not seeing past its self-proclaimed defeat, humiliated for resorting to withdrawal.

Before its long-lasting sleep, Ichibi no Shukaku made a promise; It had lost a little battle, but it would win the war. One day it would wake up and it would ensure its host regretted ever thinking of himself superior to _its esteemed self_.

Suddenly, however, after a few years, Shukaku's will of power seemed to be mysteriously revived, and the beast was able to set itself free – remotely – from the solitary destiny Gaara had imposed on it when he chose to lock the Bijuu away deep inside the unexplored depths of his mind, where it could rarely hear the redhead, but never see, nor hear their surroundings, and the beast howled in sweet revenge when it finally gained a little bit of control back.

The Tanuki's whispers became worse as the days went by – so repetitive and quiet, Gaara almost felt like they were his own thoughts. It was aggressively inquisitive and hungrily curious, thirsting for information that its host did not wish to provide. _What is that that my esteemed self sees? What is that that my esteemed self hears?_ It would scream and bawl and vociferate repeatedly. It knew Gaara tried to hide something and it would find out what it was and use it against him, even if it had to claw the redhead’s thought out of his brain.

Somehow, after his sister's attempt at rapprochement, something changed, and it was like a portal had opened once again to the Ichibi. As if the beast had seen something inside Gaara – something he himself hadn't –, and what Shukaku saw stirred something deep inside it. Rapidly, it had gained advantage back, after so many years of the redhead meticulously taking care to prevent the demon from controlling him – trying to avoid that it would terrorize him again like it used to do during his troubled childhood.

Gaara wanted to hate his sister for that. Strangely, he couldn't.

Not that he was unfamiliar to the feeling. Sabaku no Gaara knew hatred very well – better than anyone he'd ever known. But, for many reasons that were beyond him, he couldn't bring himself to look down on his sister anymore – not that he had ever truly meant any of the hateful words he had said to her in previous years, before he had fully developed into who he was now.

At least, that's what he told himself. Back then, he only liked that Temari resembled their mother. That had probably been the sole reason to why he never carried his death threat forward when it came to her. The blonde's charming voice had always held an incredible power over Gaara – much like Shukaku's ferocious screaming –, even from a young age.

Still, if he couldn’t even hate his sister back then, when hate was everything he knew, how could he hate her now that he had been exposed to many kinds of feelings?

Gaara heard some cracking sounds and a laugh, and he realized he had slipped into reverie again. Nothing needed to be said. The beast didn't need to make any remarkable comment on what it had just learned, its bitter laugh alone was enough to let Gaara know that it was very aware of everything he was thinking of. It was a bad sign. If he thought it, Shukaku knew it. He, out of any living being, should have known better. When had he become so careless?

Temari, of course. It had been Temari's fault.

Another cracking sound followed by another monstrous laugh. It guffawed as if it had been told the funniest story ever, and Gaara could swear he could almost feel the beast's spit as it kept its boisterous sounds, its bestial sharp shaped mouth opening widely as Shukaku amused at its host expense.

As he sighed in vexation, he made a hand sign and his sand engulfed him, teleporting him back to his office in a swirl of very light, saturated reddish-yellow colored grains.

He scanned the room curiously, as if looking for anything to distract himself with until he set his eyes over the small plant he saw on his desk and made his way to it. Reaching his hand, he let his fingers brush against the plant's needle-like spines, and he absently wondered if, maybe, that was meant to hurt him.

How long had it been? A month? He thought so. A few weeks prior to his current state of torment, Temari had come, without summon, into his office at midnight sharp. He hadn't expected anyone, and he had been a second away from leaving for another sleepless night roaming out the cold desert. That had slightly bothered him, but he didn't voice a single thought about her intrusion – her timid smile kindled something within him, despite his blank look not letting any thoughts he had about it show through his expression.

Temari hadn't said anything, nor moved. She just stood there, as if uncertain of how to proceed, and he had observed that, studying intently her soft features. He also noted that she seemed to be carrying something with her – which she had hid behind her back. She opened her mouth and closed it again as they stared awkwardly at each other. His cold eyes and stoic expression intimidated his sister – even if he had no intention of doing so –, making her freeze at the fear of another embarrassing rejection.

Gaara wondered if she wanted something from him, and when Temari failed to show her intentions or say anything he decided to finally call for her. He seemed to have surprised her by being willing to give continuity to her pathetic attempt at socialization whereas he could have just left her to herself after her lack of reaction.

"I thought-" She reformulated and brought her trembling hands forward, finally exhibiting what she held, embarrassed for making a fool out of herself. "Well, it's… nothing grand, really."

Temari watched his features carefully, and her smile failed a bit when she recognized something that resembled boredom as he stared at her hands. She held her breath as she waited for his answer, and he could sense it since he could no longer hear the agitated, yet quiet sound of air being inhaled and exhaled.

"A cactus." He spoke after a few seconds, more to himself than to her.

She trembled in her place. It wasn't just his eyes and blank face, his voice also sounded bored. She breathed out, trying to keep her composure. This was Gaara. He had always sounded bored, his voice being too lifeless to represent anything other than that. She waited a few more seconds, desperate for any reaction.

"It's a gift," She swallowed hard, disappointed at his lack of response – not that she wasn't used to it. "For your birthday. I cultivated it myself. It's still very little, as you can see."

Indeed, it was. He thought she must have been cultivating it for about two years now, since it was very small, and cactus didn't grow over an inch per year. For how long had she planned this? Had it been meticulously calculated? Did she begin to tend it just to give it to him later? If so, then, why? He felt confused, and he didn't like the feeling.

After Gaara seemed none too inclined to say anything else, she decided to implement at the silence. "You only need to water it once a week."

But he knew that, of course. Did she think he was stupid? Was that why, of all plants, she had chosen a cactus to give him? Did she think he needed something effortless? He commanded the desert. Why could she have the nerve to assume she needed to teach him anything about his own realm or what lied on it?

Gaara darted his eyes from the plant to her. He had a serene expression on his face, revealing nothing about his thoughts. He walked towards her, startling the girl when he, unceremoniously, took the cactus from her hand before turning his back, walking over to his desk and setting his gift on top of it.

For a second, Temari looked expectant, as if waiting for him to thank her. That never happened. And she honestly didn't blame him. He didn't bother feigning surprise; he didn't even acknowledge that she expected a reaction from him. That kind of comprehension was beyond him.

He looked back at her, his eyes still morbidly veiled and she wasn't sure if he felt bothered by her presence or if he expected her to do anything else.

She took a step forward, and he didn't move. He had been pleasant enough not to turn his back on her and leave, so Temari decided that, maybe, that had been the opening she had longed for. She figured she could try an approach again, perhaps something more intimate.

"I wanted to wish you a happy birthday." She almost whispered, feeling breathless. "I wanted to be the first."

Static.

Gaara didn't move an inch. His eyes remained blank and so did his features. His stare was still firm onto her eyes and it made her incredibly uncomfortable. It was like she hadn't said anything at all – like she wasn't even there. She looked away from him, just to regain a little of her courage back.

Temari swallowed dryly the knot on her throat, feeling suffocated as the awkwardness between them seemed to take over completely. They faced each other for what felt like hours and, scratching the nape of her neck in distraction, she shily made her way to him until she was a couple of inches away from him.

At such proximity, he could hear her erratic breathing even better. She, on the other hand, still couldn't hear his. There were several reasons to that; one of them was that she didn't possessed Shukaku within her, and the other was that, unlike her, Gaara wasn't distressed, nor uncomfortable – maybe slightly annoyed by her sudden arrival, but still not nearly as on nerves as she was. His respiration was ever so calm and soft – one could almost think he didn’t even breathe.

She glanced up quickly at his eyes and looked away again, slowly moving closer to his body as she tilted her head and raised her arms around him.

Gaara didn't know what she was trying to do. He wasn't sure what to think, but he had his guard up, just in case – which didn’t seem to bother his sister, even if it offended her slightly. He remained perfectly still as he felt his sister nuzzle her head against the side of his neck – her nose and forehead brushing softly against his skin. Her arms slid under his arms and closed gently around his torso. He noted she had held her breath again after she finally let the hot air out against him.

The redhead kept his look straight, his arms still dropped to his side, never mimicking his sister's actions. Something happened. His mind faltered and he could swear he heard a laughter – a well-known monstrous one. His sand hovered around them, and he didn't know how to process what had just happened, nor the implications of it, but now, he was fully aware of his sealed beast presence.

"Happy birthday, Gaara." Temari brought him back from his thoughts – she had the slight feeling he had been ignoring her.

She parted slowly from him after that, still feeling like her demonstration lacked something else – something even more meaningful. She wanted to be able to tell him she loved him – she needed him to know that – and to kiss him on the cheek – dearly, like any sister would have done –, but she was terrified of crossing the thin line he had drawn years ago or breaking his patience. Before, it never took much for him to push her away. So, out of fear, she chose silence instead and said nothing – thankful enough he had conceded her this much already.

Looking at him, she almost thought he seemed shocked – despite the fact that his expression looked exactly the same of a few minutes ago. Temari herself was quite stunned too. She was awed at how he had allowed her such intimacy. She was disappointed at his lack of response, of course, but she figured it was only normal – coming from him. At the very least, for the first time in years, he had allowed her to touch him.

She had given him one last smile as she made her way to the door, wishing him a good night and finally leaving him to himself – she knew what his nightly walk meant to him.

That night, Gaara felt something awaken inside him – something he hadn't felt in over ten years. And along with that, surfaced the old, well-known feeling of loneliness and anger – the same ones that had turned him into a killing machine at the age of six.

He didn't want to dwell on it – nor admit it more than once –, but it had felt good. What Temari had done felt warm and comforting. It had also tickled – the tip of her nose and the strands from her spiky hairstyle brushing against his neck. It left him with a feeling of need. Like a hole had been reopened in his heart – and inside of that hole, Shukaku too, had seemed to emerge at its full power, ready to haunt Gaara with his rediscovered feelings.

Gaara couldn't help wondering what the reason behind her sudden approach was – especially after such a long time. Why had she done it? What did she expect to obtain from that? Was that a plot against him? The last one had been Shukaku's idea, of course. Gaara tried to ignore the beast, but he quickly found out it was much harder now that the Ichibi had finally freed itself from its confinement.

She had never forgotten his birthday, that was true. She would always wish him a happy birthday and he would leave afterwards – not really inclined to be at her presence, nor anyone else’s. She had also never really given him anything before. Now, however, she had even gifted him, and it wasn't just any gift. It had been something simple, yes, but it was something from her, something she herself had made for him. She took her time growing that life, tending to it only so she could give it to him as a present. And somehow, it had meant something – whether it was good or not, Gaara didn't know.

Despite his efforts, he couldn't begin to understand what had kept him from shoving his sister off him the second she dared touch him. He hadn't felt such thing in years – the warmth of someone's skin against his own –, and that had made him dazed. For a short moment, he felt overwhelmed by her display of affection. And only after she parted from him, he fully realized how cold he truly felt.

Gaara breathed deeply as he pressed harder against the spines, letting them sink in the protection layer of his fingers. His digits didn't bleed, though – the sand armor shielding his skin. With one last suspicious look to his plant, he left to his room. It was a very tidy place and he even had a bed. It was impeccable, as always. It didn't serve any other purpose than filling up space in his room. He never once lay in it – there wasn't any reason to. His eyes wouldn't close, he wouldn't rest – nor dream, ever.

He looked absently at his bed, making his way to it for the very first time.

He lay down. On the center, to be precise. Both his arms laid beside him, stiff, like the rest of his body. He didn't know if he was supposed to feel anything there. He felt nothing different from minutes ago – besides strangeness. Did people rest just by lying down in it? Was that meant to be comfortable? If so, then why did it feel so bizarre to him?

Shukaku had laughed at this. He wasn't human, that's why, the beast told him. It said he was barely anything at all. Just broken remains of an unwanted child – of a hated and feared one who was never taught what love meant. Remains of a pretending monster trying to be what it wasn't. Gaara had clenched his fists, and Shukaku guffawed again.

The Ichibi had sworn it would break the redhead again, turn him back into the shards he once was. It would maim him mentally, until its host started to show the disfigured physical effects of a worn, torn up mind and a darkened heart. Shukaku aimed to subvert Gaara's heart, corrupt his fragile understanding of morals. The beast would do it – it promised him so, every lonely, cold night ever since it finally broke free from its imprisonment.

It did feel cold, and his bed did nothing to warm him up. He felt off place in a place that belonged to no one else but him.

He breathed out in frustration – more at himself than the beast. His hands flat on the fabric, sliding lazily over it, feeling its texture. It was odd. The comforter felt thick and soft, but he still didn't feel warm – not like his sister had made him feel. She had reintroduced him to a feeling he had long forgotten and then took it away from him – the moment her body moved away from his – right after, and he was left with nothingness.

Gaara frowned in confusion. If the comforter couldn't provide him the sensation he sought, what was the point of having one? The thought about the beddings made him wonder why he even owned a bed. Who had set that there? Who had thought he needed it? Was it to mock him? Was it just so he'd have to look at it every night knowing he was uncapable of making use of it?

He had never given it a thought before – barely acknowledging the object in other occasions, never interested in trying to use it. Now, he was completely drawn to it – or any thought he could hold onto for as long as possible in order to avoid Shukaku skimming his mind.

He wanted to keep his beast away, unaware of his intentions, but whatever he thought about, Temari would always come to his mind, and Shukaku laughed each time it happened.

As if in response, blowing violently against the windows, the wind howled in anguish, raising grits of sand with its strong rebellious gusts. The grains hit against the glass and the pebble-like sounds called for him, wanting to lure him back to the desert so he could feel its affliction scratching at his skin. The sand had sung its loneliness to him before, and even now, he could still hear it. The air whistled too, needy, between the cracks of the windows, and as he watched the ceiling, he wondered if his sister felt lonely too.

He listened quietly to the sound of both sand and wind together as they mingled in shared agony, and he thought about what it would feel like to have Temari lying there, next to him. Would she have talked to him? Would the sound of her voice have calmed his restlessness – would it have been strong enough to shut Shukaku's voice? Would she have made him feel warm again, like she'd done that night?

The redhead no longer had room for his own thoughts as the Ichibi started its rant. Shukaku spoke all night long – just as it had done every other night, for about a month now –, it whispered its most unscrupulous desires – some involving his sister –, it spat its venomous words at him about how he'd been forsaken and left to rot, alone and miserable, just like _its esteemed self_. The beast lulled him with songs about death and torment. It made promises – promises that made its host uneasy, and Shukaku saw that, it felt that – about how it would thrive over the desert and turn everything Gaara owned into shreds with its claws.

Gaara was alone. He felt alone, and he wished Temari could have been there with him. Instead he was left with the feeling of the beast itself lying beside him, whispering incessantly into his ears – its monstrous voice so quiet and dark, coming out at an incredible quick pace, repeating words over and over, until it branded them on its host's brain. Gaara's eyes were wide open the whole time, as if in trance, listening almost avidly each word the beast uttered, staring at the ceiling, completely unmoving, until he saw the sunrise shine through his windows, and he got out of bed.

Not once did he close his eyes.

**I really hope you managed to enjoy this! Please, review if you may.**

** 27/09/2019**

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I do want to focus more on Gaara, but I promise there will be more GaaTema and SMUT in later chapter. I intend to develop them slowly as they will sexually explore and learn from each other.  
This will be a slow ride, everyone. Just bear with me... and read my fucking notes.


End file.
